Chapter 217: Money, Money, Money (1)
The locomotive’s test run succeeded. No—let me correct that. It was a tremendous success.
I had pushed this project since around 1791. That meant it had taken six full years. With that much effort poured into it, success was only natural.
The steel horse weighing nearly ten tons finally escaped the suffocating 100-pyeong laboratory in Paris and galloped freely across the vast American continent, its steam turbine and cylinders pumping energetically as if it were thrilled by its newfound freedom.
And now the Minnesota Steelworks, proudly bearing the signboard of Ears of the Nation, began producing fresh steel every morning. As soon as it was produced, the steel was transformed into railway rails, steadily extending the lines.
However—
“Ah, sir. You’ve arrived.”
“Mr. Le Bon, how is the research progressing?”
“Very well.”
Mr. Le Bon, whom I had recently promoted from ordinary researcher to senior researcher, spoke confidently.
Back at the Paris Central Armory, the craftsmen once told me that steel could only be produced by refining top-grade Scandinavian iron ore. But now that I had a modern blast furnace, I had no intention of paying extra just to import raw materials from others.
As they said, even with the blast furnace, our company—just beginning to run—was still feeding Minnesota iron ore into the furnace to produce steel.
However, due to the lack of advanced technology, the quality still seemed to depend quite heavily on the ore itself.
In the end, there was only one answer.
R&D had to run at full throttle.
If I managed to produce steel smoothly from ordinary iron ore, wouldn’t that Swedish king who once gave me such a big screw-you end up crying tears of blood?
Mr. Le Bon picked up a stack of papers filled with formulas and tables.
“After continuous experiments adjusting the oxygen mixture ratio, we believe it is now possible to produce steel even without top-grade iron ore. Of course, the quality may be slightly inferior.”
“That is sufficient. Please continue your efforts.”
“Yes, sir!”
Market pioneers always learn by cracking their heads open.
But if the thing getting cracked wasn’t my head but a few lumps of metal, that was a very profitable arrangement.
Three more years.
In just three years, though it might still be incomplete in places, the railway line from Minnesota to Louisiana would be finished.
But that didn’t mean we could sit around doing nothing for three years.
“When will the next courier ship depart?”
“Seven o’clock this morning.”
“Hm. One hour from now. Understood.”
Because America was absurdly vast, mail between Louisiana and Minnesota was collected and delivered by ship once every two weeks.
As a result, a letter sent from Minnesota took nearly three months to reach Paris.
That was only because I was the sender. For ordinary people, a single letter would probably take half a year.
Tsk. If only there were telephones.
No—even telegraphs would be enough.
Because of this, any orders I issued from Minnesota had to consider a future far beyond the present.
That was also why I was writing this letter now.
[Initiate negotiations to purchase iron mines in the Alsace-Lorraine region.
I have reviewed the projected report for the second quarter of this year. Please send the projected accounting reports for the first through fourth quarters of next year.]
First: purchasing iron mines in Alsace-Lorraine.
France was good for agriculture but not ideal for building factories. Alsace-Lorraine was the only region with coal and iron deposits. If I didn’t plant my flag there quickly, someone else might devour it.
America might be a land of opportunity and abundant resources, but transporting materials across the Atlantic to France would cost a fortune.
France needed its own industrial base as well.
The more supply channels for raw materials, the better.
Second: the accounting reports.
It wasn’t that I distrusted the accounting team in Paris.
But as the business expanded and overseas subsidiaries appeared one by one, the accountants of the eighteenth century were bound to hit their limits.
And once people reached their limits, the thoughts inevitably appeared.
Would it be fine to cut corners here?
Should we just gloss over this part?
You think that wouldn’t happen?
Even in 2022, accounting fraud still erupted regularly.
A company collapses like a dam.
A small hole appears first, and eventually the entire structure collapses.
Assuming someone was hiding something, in this era without Wall Street or the financial engineering invented by Harvard and Yale MBAs, I would easily smell anything suspicious just by skimming through the reports.
I melted wax, stamped the seal, and pressed it onto the letter.
Outside, the postal ship had already arrived and was unloading mail.
“Thank you for your hard work.”
“Oh! Sir!”
“Please send this to Rue de Grenelle in Paris.”
“As always, express delivery?”
“Of course. Bill the fee to Ears of the Nation in Paris under my name.”
“Yes, sir.”
The captain accepted the letter, then spoke again.
“Ah, by the way. There’s quite a bit of mail addressed to you this time.”
“Mail? I can’t think of anyone who would send me letters.”
“Just a moment.”
The captain went into the cargo hold and returned with a bundle.
There had to be dozens of letters.
“What is all this?”
“Letters from various places. Paris, Toulon, Marseille… oh yes, and Calcutta in India.”
“…Calcutta?”
Calcutta? Did I even know anyone in India?
“Thank you for delivering the letters. Here’s a tip—have a drink in Nouvelle-Orléans.”
“Oh my! Thank you very much! Sir, feel free to use our service anytime!”
Leaving the captain behind with his sailor’s broad grin, I returned to my room and untied the bundle on the desk.
“Let’s see…”
Opening several letters, I skimmed through them.
Most were similar.
New Year greetings from social circles.
Since it was March now, they must have been written in early January.
Others asked for favors.
“Our son is very intelligent but unemployed,” they wrote, requesting job placements or investment funds.
If I kept reading like this, it would never end.
So I sorted the letters roughly, cutting the pile in half.
Among the remaining ones, one caught my eye.
Calcutta.
Ah—this must be the one the captain mentioned.
Tap.
[May Your Excellency be in good health.
Thanks to Your Excellency’s arrangements and consideration, I am living extremely well. I sincerely thank you.]
…I didn’t recall making arrangements for anyone.
Who was this?
[Ah! Even now I sometimes imagine cutting across the Mediterranean Sea with Your Excellency. Those glorious achievements and battles—thanks to you, I, Horatio Nelson—]
Hmm.
Spam mail.
But wait—why were you in India?
Looking at the bottom of the letter, I saw the signature.
Commander of the British Imperial Fleet in India — Horatio Nelson.
Ah.
Was this because of me?
Thinking back, I vaguely remembered writing to Pitt once.
He’s capable, but talks too much. Probably shouldn’t keep him nearby.
Wow.
So William Pitt had sent him all the way to India.
Someone skilled but far from the center of power.
That man was terrifying.
I placed the spam letter aside and picked up the next one.
[Maximilien Robespierre.]
Oh shit.
What business did the diligent student who attended Guillaume’s Economics lectures have writing to me?
Surely he wasn’t asking to retake the course—or threatening to cut off the professor’s head?
Fortunately, Robespierre’s letter contained nothing of the sort.
[Director-General Guillaume de Toulon,
The National Assembly election is approaching. Half of the delegates will be replaced. Accordingly, ministers of the executive government will also be newly elected.]
Now that he mentioned it, it was about time for elections.
Originally, the current assembly had never intended to hold power this long.
The plan was simple:
First the Constituent Assembly to create the constitution.
Then the Legislative Assembly to establish the framework.
Finally the National Assembly, whose members would serve two-year terms with half replaced each election.
This system would allow regular political turnover.
But war, war, and more war kept extending the terms.
Members of the original Constituent Assembly had remained in power through every stage.
Now that the situation had stabilized, they intended to return to the original system.
Not bad.
But why send this to me abroad?
[Additionally, the term of the Director-General of Finance has ended and a new one will be elected. Party leader Sieyès also hopes that Director-General Guillaume will return to the position.]
Ah.
So they wanted to put a leash around my neck again.
[Director-General Condorcet has cited his advanced age as a reason for temporarily withdrawing from politics… (omitted)… However, the energetic Director-General Guillaume is fully capable of fulfilling this role…]
I didn’t read any further.
I slid the letter across the desk toward the pile of spam.
Robespierre, you bastard.
Do you remember how much coffee I vomited while holding that position?
Why would I voluntarily crawl back?
If I didn’t run in the election, that was the end of it.
I still had far too much work left to do in America.
October 1796.
Versailles.
“All members of the current National Assembly who have served since the Constituent Assembly hereby declare that we shall not stand in the upcoming election. In order to preserve democracy, liberty, equality, and fraternity as written in the Constitution—and to serve as an eternal warning against dictatorship—we voluntarily step aside.”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Waaaah! Long live the Revolution! Long live the Constitution! Long live the National Assembly!”
Clap clap clap clap!
When the presiding officer struck the gavel three times, applause erupted across the chamber, beginning with party leaders Sieyès and Robespierre.
For the next two years, none of the current members would return to this hall.
But that was precisely the point.
The best way to prevent revolutionary leaders from becoming stagnant relics was to rotate power.
Everyone gladly yielded their seats to the next generation.
Two months later—
December 1796.
“Waaaah!”
“Thank you! Citizens of Nantes, thank you for trusting me!”
Joseph Fouché, elected as a National Assembly delegate with a majority vote in Nantes, proudly boarded the carriage heading for Versailles.